When your fragile world comes crashing down around you, you realize your place.
For now, we're stuck in our endless loop, this endless race we face.

The shatter of your heart replays in your mind, leaving nothing but broken behind.

They call me *****,
Ching chong expecting me to sing along to the bing bongs of Christmas.
Christening myself into white culture.
As they tried the ***** and native American,
Now Asian.

They call me a *****,
a man with tools.
Shovel, pick axe, and hammer.
Digging for gold but also watching my head,
For the white man’s jealous, silver bullet.

They call me *****,
a man with dignity in another’s land.
With metal and not a whip in my hands.
Building a future for them,
Model minority for them alone.

They call me *****,
Silent, physically weak, and emasculated,
but silenced in a country that is meek and of no value,
Where the colors red, white, and blue mean more than your color,
(Where) God Bless(es) the United States of America.

Maybe I am a *****,
Crawling in mud and sleeping with pigs,
A Feminine man finding strength in gambling,
Drinking liquor looking red,
Chinks ******* white animals for fetish,
Fool to English when although they cannot speak more than English themselves.
Yes, English, a borrowed language they call their own.
To slur relentlessly with a white hood of superiority.
I see no future without fury from my culture,
Hated and euphemized without limitation,
Hath hell come down on them now.

Still I am a *****,
With a face yellow and a soul chicken,
Clucking around with little thought or agenda,
for the white people and only the white people,
alongside the negroes and native Americans.

Hurt by this country but never broken.

Now it's too late
For me to slow down
Must accept my fate:
The lost will ever be found

All down the drain,
Moments lost in a flash
Pushing limits,
We were bound to crash

No matter how speed
I can never seem
To reach
Where I have to go

No matter how fast
I know it won't last
Because
I've always been too slow

Rolling down the road
You were in my path
You left me roadkill
And it makes you laugh

Carrying my loads
We came in contact
You died on impact
I was still intact

Wake up and smell the coffee, focus as the pan flips,
Time for the rat race and its monotonal semantics,
Suss out agendas - get ahead of the mind tricks,
Brush over simple truths with pointless lies and politics.

Another year gone - stale memories as the frost licks,
Dignity diminished, allegiance pledged to bosses,
Anticipating failure as you organise your post-its,
Institutionalising life, leaving no room for chances.

Clutching at a purpose yet defeated as the clock ticks,
Finding closeness in distance and solace as the storm hits.

the white race, paunched,
couched in lazy righteousness
steeped in knee-**** fright of us--
terrified by the sight of
our history of shamefulness
in every passing headline
and obit crossing the line
that makes the deadline,
day by deadly day
due to the arrogance of men
who refuse to even listen
to the obvious injustice
pouring since i don't know when--

our nation's deepest wound
forever reopened to bleed again
and again
and again
and again

I’m not black
I think about that
What it must be like
Not being white
I’ll never have a clue
How black can make one blue
A stigma to be worn
From the day that you are born
I’m not black
I’m thankful for that
White’s a lifetime bonus
Black... a burden that’s bogus
No one white wish’s to be black
That says it all...
Think about that

Force a smile
and stand up straight
first leg's a mile
ready at the gate

Please do not worry
if you cannot relate
we're off in a hurry
it's sort of innate

To leap and bound
and always be late
but always be running
it's sort of our fate

To run and never get there
to die and never know where
or why our fate is unfair
or if you ever did care

I’m Biracial.
Which did you notice first?
The me that looks like you or the me that looks like other?

There is no denying what I am—
from my last name to the shape of eyes,
you’ll know I’m not white.
But you’ll also immediately notice
I’m not quite not white.

I’m not quite not white enough.
White-passing.
“extremely” white passing until:
someone sees my last name
takes longer than five seconds to look at me
notices something “other” about me.

Other...
not one box to check on your
“optional” choose one diversity survey
Can’t check White. Can’t check Asian.
other...“Decline to Answer”

I’m Biracial. White-passing—
but not enough to stop ignorance
ignorance in the form of
questions and comments
meant to be “harmless” or “curious”
but ones that strip me of defining my own identity

“So are you a math Asian or a **** Asian?”
“You don’t look Asian enough for your last name.”
“Why are you trying to whitewash yourself for them?”
“Diversity quota”
And in comparison, those aren’t the worst things to hear.
By age ten I knew which words were meant to hurt
and which were meant out of ignorance.
Which racial slur applied to me.

I’m Biracial.
The same system that builds up half of me tears down the other half.
But— The model minority myth means something to you.
So you’ll build my other half up at the expense of someone else.

You’ll make me feel uncomfortable in my own identity
to fit what you need in the circumstances
Statistics to fit your workplace diversity quota
But still white passing so you can use micro aggressions as a joke
because I’m “white enough” that they should be funny.

I’m Biracial. Not other.
Not part you and part not you.
Not “missing” something.
I am wholly biracial.

that's what he said to me
before he fled the scene

whether it be from cowardice,
lurking in the darkest corners of the room

or the joyful victory lap
to triumphantly conclude a race

"Run. Just run"

whispered in the hallows of the haunted castle
screamed into the wind that slipped past you like a stranger, unbeknownst

warning of the foreboding nightmare you are about to be
awoken from

commanding your limbs to expel one last kick,
'till you fly away, far away

always remember, my friend

just run